Countdown

It was now ten days till the wedding. Mom and the girls were waiting for us when we got to the Big House at 10:30. Something about fifty-something glass vases waiting through craigslist. Irish stayed with Puck while Mom, Carrie-Bri, and I left to pick up the goods.

Another wet ride, south. Turns out the 40+ minute drive really required only one person. Two cardboard boxes in the trunk, and away.

It was also two days till prom. Francis had his date and a color theme already prepared. However when I asked Irish if she was going, she practically dusted off her hands and grinned with satisfaction:

“Nope!”

Anyway, as usual, Carrie was involved in the making up of the costume. Francis needed a blue bow tie. So instead of forking over the dough for a rig he’d never wear again, Carrie solicited Hobby Lobby and two sisters for sounding boards.

Back at the Big House, Carrie prepped one bow tie cut from a sheet of sparkling royal blue cloth. Puck watched, fascinated, and asked for the scraps. Before Carrie prepped version two: painting the old striped bow tie and adding horizontal bands of blue crystals, she made two tiny bow ties for Donkey and Buck. Renaissance woman.

While buttered baked potatoes went into the oven for dinner, and the rain sogged on, Puck enlightened his mama and aunt on how he thought the age order went down in the Snicketts family:

“Who do you think is the oldest?”

“Onion is. But first, Grandma and Grandpa.”

“Who’s next?”

“Francis.”

“Next?”

“You,” he nodded to me. “Then Lila and Sun and then … Joe.”

His synopsis didn’t exactly hit 1-2-3-4-5-6. More like 4-5-1-6-2-3. He seemed pretty adamant on that conclusion.

When I picked up Puck – or more like he picked me up – from class at Old Church that evening, he was trumpeting some ungodly noise into a saran-wrapped paper cup, vuvuzela strength.

“What is that?”

“It’s supposed to be an instrument to praise God. But I’m using it for something else.”

Clearly.